Chapter 5 - The Vipers Strike
While I was hunting Rosa, my family was not sitting idle.
I woke up the next morning at the safe house to an alert on my phone. My personal bank accounts, my corporate credit cards, and my access to the Cross Enterprise servers had all been frozen.
I turned on the television. The local news was running a breaking story. There was Julian, standing at a podium in front of the Cross Enterprise headquarters, wearing his best tailored suit, looking appropriately solemn.
“It is with a heavy heart that the Cross family must address the recent erratic behavior of my brother, Sebastian,” Julian told the cameras, his voice thick with fake sympathy. “The grief of losing his wife has finally taken its toll. Three days ago, Sebastian suffered a severe psychotic break. He abducted two unidentified children, claiming they were his deceased wife’s. For his safety and the safety of the company, the board has temporarily stripped him of his CEO title, and we are working with authorities to safely recover the children and get my brother the psychiatric help he desperately needs.”
I turned the television off.
“They’re framing you as a lunatic,” Marcus said, handing me a cup of black coffee. “If the cops find you, they won't treat you like a father. They’ll treat you like a kidnapper. Your mother has judges and police commissioners on her payroll. We can't fight them in the open.”
“They think freezing my accounts makes me powerless,” I sneered. “They forget I built the offshore networks for this company. I have half a billion dollars in cryptocurrency and untraceable accounts they don't even know exist.”
I walked into the bedroom. The girls were awake. Maya was reading a picture book to Mila, stumbling over the words but trying her best. My heart ached at the sight of them. Three years stolen. Three years of Elena’s memory tarnished.
I sat on the edge of the bed. “Maya, Mila. Do you know what doctors are?”
They both shook their heads.
“We need to do a tiny test today. It won't hurt, just a little swab inside your cheek. It’s a magic trick to prove to the world exactly who you are.”
May you like
I called in a favor from a private, concierge medical lab in D.C. A discrete doctor arrived at the compound an hour later. He swabbed the girls' cheeks and drew my blood.
“I need the results in 24 hours,” I told the doctor, handing him a duffel bag containing two hundred thousand dollars in cash. “No digital records. Hand-deliver the paper results to this address.”
